


Moving On

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Doggy Style, F/M, Fingering, Het, Hurt/Comfort, Oral, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy, Sex, Spooning, Vaginal Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: Escaping the assassins, Shay is brought to the Finnegan's to recuperate. You find yourself tasked with looking after him to the best of your abilities, but were you helping him recover, or was he helping you? You never expected to develop feelings for the roguish Irish charmer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all the lovely and wonderful readers, and very kind people, leaving little notes and kudos that brighten my day. Better late than never, I had intended to have a little Irish fun on St Patrick's day but as with everything; it overran. Enjoy the latest smutty edition staring our favourite Assassin-cum-Templar.

 

He twitches in his sleep, restless.

Perhaps he was dreaming? However, the agitation in his movements and feverish mumbles suggest that he's likely reliving past horrors, maybe even those that explain how he came to be in such a state.

You observe the patient carefully, but there is not much that you can do apart from dip a cloth into some cool water and gently place it across his burningly-hot forehead.

It's been _days_ but he hasn't roused to what you would call full consciousness. The doctors have come and gone; they have bandaged him, and stitched him, and left several doses of pain medication. All that can be done now is to wait, wait and see if he comes around.

Colonel Monro visits occasionally throughout the day, just to see how the boy is doing. The Finnegan’s were glad to help him; to take in and care for this poor, injured, soul, but you can't help a small, uncharitable, pang of resentment in the pit of your stomach. Monro asked too much of them. Barry and Cassidy were kind-hearted people, but they were getting older, and had their own problems to deal with. Why they seemed to feel that they owed the Colonel you will never know.

The man that Monro and his men brought in for your care was too much like their son, William. The Colonel didn't see how much pain caring for an injured a boy-so similar to their own-was causing them. Maybe if the British army had taken better care of William then he wouldn't be dead, and the Finnegan’s would still have their son.

You offered to help, it was the least you could do. Barry and Cassidy couldn't do it all on their own.

Gently brushing back the stranger’s hair, you comb as much of the dark messy tangle as possible, but it's a lost cause. He’s spent too long lying in whatever sea sodden puddle that he was dumped in, and the last few days thrashing around in fevered unconsciousness in bed hadn’t done the unruly mop any favours either. You are likely going to need to cut some of the matted hair off, and probably shave him for good measure too.

That was easier said than done on an unconscious person.

The army had dropped off the wounded man to sympathetic supporters. The Colonel had informed you, and the Finnegan’s, that his name was Shay Cormac, but not a lot else.

You had just assumed that Shay was one of the Monro’s soldiers, and had mainly been responsible for trying to clean him up over the last few days, making sure that he was comfortable. The best you could do at the moment was to ensure that the bandages were clean and dry and that he didn’t thrash around too much, tearing his stitches and causing further injuries. You had also attempted to force some cool tea and a little watered broth down his throat during brief moments of hazy lucidity, conscious that this poor man had not eaten in days.

 

 

 

 

After a tense seventy-two hours in the Finnegan’s care, Shay begins to show signs of recovery.

Carefully picking the stitches out of a shallow, nicely-healing wound on his shoulder, strong fingers unexpectedly wrapped around your wrist.

Your gaze wanders up to the injured man’s face to find his eyes open and much more alert than ever before, fixing you with a deep, penetrating gaze. That gaze never waivers for an instant, dark eyes-almost as black as his hair-challenging and accusing.

'Who are ye?’ He demands, voice gruff from disuse but cold and deadly, with the distinct twang of an Irish accent.

‘Take it easy. You’re ok. I'm just here to help.' You try and sooth, but the grip on your wrist tightens and you can't pull away no matter how hard you try. There is the slightest cracking noise as the bones in your wrist squeeze together painfully and you’re afraid that he'll break something in his agitation.

Shay is too strong, despite his injuries and several days in bed, and it’s obvious that he's woken up alone and afraid, not knowing if you were here to help or one of the ones who facilitated in his current condition. He’s lashing out. It’s understandable, but unfortunately it looks like you will be the one bearing the brunt of his unease.

Reluctantly, you place the thumb of your free hand against a stitched wound on his side and press. _Hard_.

Recoiling in pain, as expected Shay release his grip on you, but it was so sudden that you end up topping from your perched position on the edge of the bed, tumbling backwards onto the floor and sending bloody rags and a bowl of water everywhere.

Dazed, and backside beginning to tingle from your particularly hard landing, you find yourself covered in water and left gazing up at the prone figure on the bed. Remaining still, thinking that perhaps if you keep a distance and stay on the floor then your patient might believe that you are not out to intentionally hurt him after all.

As you sit, stunned for a moment, you can only watch as Shay shuffles to the edge of the bed, wincing with every movement. Throwing back the covers, he braces his palms, muscles in his arms and legs flexing in effort and you suddenly realise what he's going to attempt, but are far too late to put up much of a resistance.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.' You warn, trying to extract yourself quickly from the floor.

'Please stay in bed; you are not in any condition to-'

Too late. Shay had swung his feet out of bed and tried to stand. As predicted, the extent of his injuries and several days unconsciousness results in legs giving way under him and Shay to collapse to the floor with a loud, painful sounding, thud.

Right on top of you.

Lower body pinned by his torso, you watch hopelessly as you see fresh blood soak through the bandages around his waist.

Shay hisses in pain from his landing but seems to have lost some of the anger on the trip down, remaining lying on the floor and regarding you with sullen passivity.

Unfortunately there's no way for you to wriggle out from underneath him without causing more discomfort, and it's an effort to extract yourself. He's a large man, and heavy, but you eventually manage to prise your legs free and scramble to your feet, with much grumbling.

'Oh for heaven's sake!' You mutter as you dust yourself down.

The patient watches you with dark eyes and a grimace of pain across his features as he rolls slowly over to lie on his back on the hard floor. He looks uncomfortable and hurting.

'Don’t look at me like that you did that to yourself.' You chide him.

Closing his eyes he offers a small, resigned, nod. 'Aye.'

Thankfully, you are spared the task of working out just how to get him off of the floor as the noisy commotion has drawn attention from downstairs. Colonel Monro and the Finnegan’s come bursting through the bedroom door, wondering what all the racket was, to find Shay sprawled on the floor beside the bed and you dishevelled and covered in water and blood splatter.

'What happened here?' The Colonel demands and you watch Shay eye his uniform suspiciously. Maybe he wasn’t with the army then? Strange.

_'Someone_ ,' you glare at the man on the floor, pleased at the brief flash of sheepish expression across his face, 'tried to get out of bed.'

'And you let him?' Mrs Finnegan asks, incredulously, and you fight not to bristle at her accusation. Did she think you were stupid?

'Of course I didn't, but he tried before I could stop him.’

‘I'm fine by the way, he only landed on me.' You add with a sarcastic mumble that everyone pointedly ignored, although you did catch a small smirk tug the corners of Shay’s mouth.

Between the Colonel, and Mr Finnegan, they manage get the injured man up from the floor and back into bed where he reluctantly agrees to remain, for the time being.

'What am I doing here?' He asks, puzzled, gazing at crowd of people now surrounding him and, for the first time, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings with cautious interest.

Mrs Finnegan gives him a gentle smile. Moving carefully towards the bed, she perches on the edge, filling a glass of water from the bedside table to offer him. 'What do you remember, laddie?'

You quietly leave the room, letting them have some privacy and allowing the Colonel and the Finnegan’s to fill Shay in about his current predicament and how he arrived here, while you get yourself tidied up and collect some fresh bandages.

After a while, Monro departs, leaving Barry and Cassidy with some more money to cover the Doctor that he had called out to check Shay over once again, and for any expenses for his continuing care.

Once the crowds depart, you are allowed back into the bedroom to change the patient’s dressings and offer something to eat.

Shay watches you approach from his prone position on the bed, his gaze wary and alert.

'How are you?' You ask coolly, given his decidedly unfriendly antics last time.

He has the grace to look a little embarrassed.

'Sorry, ‘bout earlier. I didn’t know you and...' He trailed off with a small shrug.

'Thought you'd let fists fly first?' You reprimand.

'Aye. Sorry.' Shay mumbles, humbly. 'I understand that you have been looking after me?'

'Well I have been _trying_ to.' You grumble with a more teasing tone and a small smile, just so that he doesn’t think you will continue to be hostile towards him. It had been a misunderstanding, and he was visibly sorry.

Shay returns a small smile.

Propping some pillows behind him, you help him sit up so that he is comfortable and in a good position for you to rest a tray across his lap.

'Why don't we try a little something to eat and drink and then I'll see what damage your trip out of bed has done?'

Shay’s expression turns mischievous, dark eyes sparking in humour. 'Anyone ever tell you you have a pleasant bedside manner?'

You roll your eyes; you can tell that he is bating you. 'No.'

‘I'm not surprised.' He smirks at his own joke buy you continue to glare at him until he clears his throat and pulls the tray towards him.

Easing into a wooden chair beside the bed, you scoot closer in order to help with his food.

‘I'm Shay by the way.' He offers.

'I know.'

'You know my name?'

'Only your name. The Colonel told us when he brought you’re here, but he didn't elaborate on how you came to be in such a state. I assumed that you were one of his soldiers, injured in some sort of battle.'

Shay makes no comment whether he was or wasn’t, and you don’t want to pry too much yet so don’t push him further. He clearly didn’t know Monro, judging from his reaction earlier. Just why was Shay in the Colonels care then?

Carefully, you unfold a napkin to cover his stomach and part of his chest and smooth down the wrinkles in the covers. He would tell you more in time if he wished; it wasn’t your job to pry, just to take care of him on Barry and Cassidy’s behalf.

Shay runs a hand through his hair and freezes mid-motion, taking a few moments to root around through the shortened locks at the base of his neck.

‘Did you-did you cut my hair?’ He asks slowly, eyes on you, he doesn’t seem happy

It must be difficult to wake up not only in a strange place but to find your personal space violated. ‘Yes. I’m sorry but I was afraid of lice and a lot of it was matted with blood and seawater. I tried to leave as much as possible’

You grab a small hand mirror from the bedside table and hand it to him so that he could inspect the damage. ‘I, um, shaved you as well.’ You add, guiltily.

Shay takes a few moments observing himself in the mirror, turning his head one way then the other. He runs a large palm over his jaw and you hear the scratch of stubble from the last few days’ growth.

‘It’ll grow back in no time.’ You reassure, hoping that he isn’t too upset.

‘It’s actually not so bad.’ He eventually declares, almost surprised-sounding. ’I might leave it like this.’

Continuing to stare into the mirror, Shay prods the deep cut starting at his temple and bisecting his eye. It hadn’t been quite deep enough for stitches, just a few bandages to kerb the initial bleeding, however it would likely leave a nasty scar. At least the cut only seemed to catch his forehead and cheek, leaving they eye wholly intact. It was also healing nicely.

‘You were lucky that you didn’t lose your eye from whatever caused that blow.’ You state casually, not wanting to seem as if you were prying into what happened to him, but curious to see if he remembered anything.

Shay seems to contemplate that for a moment, throwing off the obvious danger to himself with false bravado, ‘I make my own luck, love.’

‘Yes, well next time conjure up some more of that luck, Mr Cormac, as you nearly died.’

‘Right little ray of sunshine you are, aren’t you.’ He jests.

He is obviously not a man that likes being reminded of his own mortality, or is willing to appear too serious, at least on the surface, but there’s more going on behind those intense eyes than he lets on.

You can feel his gaze on you; it feels as if he’s weight and measuring you, as you pick up the cutlery form the tray.

'Do you look after many injured soldiers?’ He probes, a note of curiosity in that charming accent.

'Some.' You evade, dipping the spoon into the soup.

Leaning carefully over him, you offer Shay a mouthful. He frowns at you, ignoring the spoon pointedly held in front of his face. 'I don't need you to feed me.' He insists angrily, good humour disappearing in the face of his embarrassment.

This one isn’t going to be an easy person to look after; you should have known that from the first moment he woke up.

'You have been unconscious for days, Shay. We’ll take this slow.' You try with an even tone, you don’t want to appear irritated or frustrated with him, he needs time to recover.

‘I'll manage.' He insists, grabbing the spoon from your hand.

Well then. This one is _definitely_ going to be a difficult patient. Too stubborn. Unwilling to yield, and clearly thinks he is a charmer on top of that given some of the earlier smirks and teasing remarks.

'Don’t cry to me of you burn yourself, its hot-'

No sooner had you given your warning, you notice the Irishman’s wince as his unsteady hands drop a few splashes of hot soup onto his bared, bandaged, chest.

Raising your eyebrow at him, you give him an unimpressed look. 'Just as well those bandages are getting changed then.' You mutter cattily.

'Just as well.' Shay retorted, equally so, and ploughed on trying to feed himself, ignoring your frustrated attempts to help.

You eventually give up and sit back in the chair letting him get on with it.

'Are the Finnegan’s your parents?’ He enquires curiously, between mouthfuls, still chewing on lumps of vegetables. You try and control your look of disgust; he undoubtedly had a lot to be desired in terms of manners.

The question throws you. Did everyone just assume that you were their daughter?

'Not quite.' You evade, but Shay frowns, dark eyebrows furrowing as he fixes you with a questioning look until you are forced to elaborate.

'I have known them for many years. I consider them my friends.'

'You just come to their house every day and take care of injured people for...friends?'

He obviously worked out that there more going on than that and just wouldn’t let go.

'They are getting on in years and could use the help. Honestly, I don't mind.'

He stops eating his soup, fixing that dark gaze intently on you. He looks much better without the moustache if you do say so, but those are observations you should keep to yourself. The last thing you need it growing attached to the latest patient because he is handsome.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath before confessing a very painful fact that you would rather many did not know.

'I- I was engaged to their son, William.'

'Was?'

You sigh, exasperated by this relentless man. 'Anyone ever tell you you ask too many questions, Mr Cormac?'

'All the time.' He grins.

‘William was one of Monro’s lieutenants and he…died.' You try and say with as little emotion as you can muster. You don’t need anyone’s pity, or knowing that it still hurt after all this time.

Shays grin fades quickly. 'Oh. I'm very sorry, lass.'

You turn your gaze away from his pitying look that was so much worse than idly curiosity. 'It was a while ago. Don't worry about it.'

‘I was engaged once.’ He offers, changing the subject and trying to lighten the mood, taking another sip of his soup in the process.

‘Oh? Just the once? And here was I thinking a man of your charm and looks had left a string of pretty girls in every port.’

Shay smirked at you and you had a feeling that you were not actually that far off the truth, or at least he liked to think that. Men will never change.

‘Ah, she loved her job…her cause, more than me. It would never have worked between us. There’s only one girl for me now.’

You raise a questioning eyebrow, wondering who he was referring to. A wife? A girlfriend perhaps?

‘The _Morrigan_.’ Shay states in a voice usually reserved for a significant others, and you roll your eyes. She was either a gun, a ship or a horse. Just what was wrong with boys and their toys?

You take a guess. ‘A ship I take it?’ You ask, sounding unimpressed and he actually looks offended at your indifference.

The Irishman eventually chuckles at you, offering a playful wink. ‘Best little sloop around.’

‘Well, eat your food and get some rest and when you are all better you can introduce me to the love of your life.’ You tease him.

‘Deal.’ He laughs.

After a few more struggled mouthfuls Shay sits the spoon back on the tray, breathing heavy as if he’s just done something more strenuous than simply eating. A fine sheen of sweat now litters his forehead and chest, and this small action has obviously been more strenuous than he would like to admit.

Raising an accusing eyebrow you brandish the spoon at him and he is reluctantly forced to concede in being fed, for the time being.

 

 

 

The patient ends up quite chatty now that he's awake. Shay has a quick sense of humour and is shamelessly flirty, but you have put up with several of William’s colleagues and Monro’s soldiers on occasions, so you can more than handle his cheeky Irish charm. Perhaps the only reason he is intent on teasing you is that the only other woman currently coming to visit him is Mrs Finnegan, and she's in her sixties, not to mention that fact that he is probably bored from being stuck in bed for most of the day.

Against Doctors orders, Shay has had you and the Finnegan’s helping him out of bed in vain attempts at trying to stand. A few shuffled steps around the room has usually been too much for him, and resulted in a quick collapse back into bed. However this morning he did make it to the window and back almost unaided.

To give him credit, he rarely shows how much pain that he's in, even if you accidentally poke, or are perhaps a little too rough cleaning some of his wounds. On days where you need to carefully pick out stitches from some of the healing cuts, you can see the twitch in those dark eyes and the slightest tension in his muscles, but he usually says nothing.

Since he has been more active of late, Shay is now insisting on trying to wash himself, in a bath, a task which you have been trying to dissuade him of for the last few hours, offering to bring some hot water and towels to him instead.

'As fun as a bed bath sound, love, I'm sure I'll manage.'

You tsk at him. He shouldn't be moving around so much, and should be allowing himself to relax and recover, but this is an old argument, one that Shay usually wins. He _is_ stubborn, and seems determined to be on his feet as quickly as possible.

Refusing your offer to clean him up yourself, reluctantly you carry upstairs a large metal drum, just big enough for one person to sit, albeit with their legs sticking out over the rim, and fill it with hot water boiled on the fire downstairs.

Shay watches you work, having the decency to look at least a little guilty at giving you so much extra to do.

‘I'll get myself in.' He states once everything is all ready, but you and he both know that he would never make it from the bed to the tub and get in and out alone, not without help.

'I can at least help you into the bath, Shay.' You offer, trying desperately to hide the fact that you don’t exactly look forward to the prospect of trying to get his clothes off of him either. It’s not that it isn’t a job that you hadn’t done before, it was just Shay was, well, _attractive_. You were supposed to be looking after him, not getting caught up with his looks and charm.

‘I'm going to have to take everything off.' He protests.

What's this? The roguish Irishman is shy? Considering that he’s been full of innuendos all week, that’s unexpected. You would have thought that he'd love the excuse to show off, especially since he has been so keen to flex his muscles when you were replacing the bandages around his chest and upper body. Some of his comments even made you blush, and that was something given the amount of time you had worked patching up groups of rowdy soldiers.

You fight not to roll your eyes. 'You have nothing that I haven't seen before.'

Shay smirks at you, a dark eyebrow raised salaciously. 'I don't know about that, lass. Might be a bit _bigger_.'

'If there's one thing that I have learned looking after all these injured men it's most them have no idea how to differentiate between large, average, or even… _small_.' You tease with a pointed look downward.

Shay chuckled heartily at your joking but quickly ended up wincing in pain.

‘Don't make me laugh.' He insisted, breathless, clutching his injured side.

'Come on.' You mutter, helping him out of bed.

You might as well get this over with, and hope that you don’t blush too much.

With much wrangling, you manage to get Shay out of bed. His movements are still slow and stiff , despite the amount of exercise that he has been doing the last few days, but you can tell that he’s not leaning anywhere near his full weight onto you.

_'Shay_.' You warn in a low voice as he stumbles, one arm unhelpfully loose around your neck.

‘I'm fine.' He states assuredly, lips tight, but you can feel his muscles quivering, under your touch. His breathing is laboured and sweat has already begun to trickle down his forehead.

Finally reaching your destination Shay slumps, exhausted, against the table.

'You are a stubborn man.' You chastise him, aware that you have taken a bossy stance, placing your hands on your hips and hating yourself for it. You are not his mother.

'In other words, a typical man you mean.' He quips, still panting and leaning on the sideboard against the wall for support.

You huff at him and his damned pride. He probably shouldn’t even attempt to get washed all by himself yet, but you carefully unwrap the soiled bandages from around his chest and stomach. Once he is all clean and dry, you will change them again.

He didn’t have any shoes on since he was brought in half dead, and had spent the rest of his time in bed; all that was left was a tattered pair of breeches that were still stained with dried blood.

Shay watches you passively, watching him, a strange look in those mischievous eyes.

So what did you do now? Did you just go over and pull them down? Your palms suddenly feel a little clammy and you swallow, hard.

As much as you have definitely seen everything that Shay has to offer, many times before, the casual intimacy from looking after him so closely, and his easy flirting, has made the prospective task of stripping him a rather intimate one.

You slowly approach, noting that he seems inhumanly still, his gaze unwavering. You stop, just a few inches from his bare torso and drop your eyes to your task at hand. You can’t possibly watch him staring at you so intimately while you essentially strip him naked.

His skin is pleasantly warm under your finger-tips as you briefly rest your hands on his hips before gently tugging at the waistband of his breeches.

Shay remains still under you, not moving to help or hinder, and you can barely see his chest rising and falling with his breathing.

Just look at this more clinically; you tell yourself, running through all the things you need to clean up later for the Finnegan’s. Just to keep your mind occupied and not on the impressive physique of the unfairly-attractive man before you. He’s injured and needs help. That is all this is. Get his clothes off and get him washed then back into bed where he can continue to recuperate.

There’s a line of painfully-small buttons down the crotch of his breeches and you clumsily fumble the first one open, cursing your fingers that seem to have forgotten how to function with the nearness of his warm, toned body. He smells of leather and male sweat and seawater and you suddenly have an overwhelming urge to bury your nose in his neck and press your body against his.

It occurs to you, as you are inelegantly undoing the second, that he could have easily done this part himself, all you would have had to do is slip the breeches down to the floor so that he could step out of them…why had you even…well, _shit_. Now you just feel like an idiot and have completely embarrassed yourself. And you also have no idea why Shay just sat there and passively let you undress him.

Do you stop now and let him finish it himself? Would that seem more of less embarrassing for the pair of you? Or did you just carry on regardless and act as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you?

You nearly jump as you feel Shay’s warm breath tickling down the back of your neck. He shifts under your touch, leaning forwards. Large hands skim down your arms, resting at your elbows and gently squeezing. He tugs you that few inches closer until you are almost pressed fully against him.

You stop your task of unbuttoning his trousers and hold your breath, unsure what he is even doing, but keeping your gaze studiously downwards, you don’t dare look up at his face. Which in itself, was a mistake, because all you can see now is a growing trail of bare skin as his breeches are loosened and a little dark trail of hair disappearing lower, almost as a temptation to keep going.

His breath feels hotter against your skin, closer, you hear him inhale deeply, his nose practically tucked into your hair behind your ear. You swear he was about to place his lips against your neck and can’t tell if you really want him to do that or not, stomach fluttering as if there are a thousand tiny butterflies trapped in there.

Those butterflies quickly plummet to a dead weight low in your gut when a loud knock at the door suddenly draws your attention.

Shay pulls back, clearing his throat and your head snaps upwards, eyes catching his in a fleeting look of shared embarrassment and guilt as you too step back.

‘Yes, come in.’ You mumble quickly, voice thankfully wavering only slightly.

You take another healthy step back from the patient, so as to not look so conspiratorially intimate, when Mr Finnegan comes charging merrily through the door, towels in hand.

Mercifully, Barry had come to spare you the task of trying to get Shay into a bath, believing it’s a job better suited for another man. You are not sure if you want to kiss him or punch him right at that moment, but offer your thanks and quickly flee the room with armfuls of washing and breakfast trays as the offending breeches puddle at the floor, trying desperately not to sneak a peak of the fully naked Irishman in the process.

 

 

 

 

By the time you slink back into the room, Shay has been cleaned, shaved, and placed in a clean pair of breeches. He looks much brighter sitting up in bed, with his dark hair damp and glistening and carefully slicked back from his face.

You decide that you are just going to have to act much more professionally and chastise yourself for transgressions. No staring, to chatting and absolutely _no_ flirting. Placing a shirt on the man would certainly solve some of your problems but he still has a few healing wounds and broken ribs that need tended to.

‘Decided not to grown it back then?' You enquire about his absent moustache. Shay had apparently let Barry shave him completely again and was now watching you with a fresh, smooth, chiselled jaw.

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Thought I’d try this out for a bit. What do you think; do I look better without it?’

‘Not really for me to say, it’s your face.’ You comment casually, trying to ignore his chatter while you carefully bandage some of his still healing wounds back up.

‘I don’t mind a lady’s opinion.’ He teases.

‘If you are fishing for complements then I suggest you try Mrs Finnegan, she is very much charmed by the ‘nice young man’ currently taking up residence in her home.’

That only resulted in Shay grinning all the more, and a deep chuckle reverberating through his chest. ‘What can I say, women love me.’ He jokes as you finish up your task and ease him back against propped up pillows.

You make no comment and Shay grabs your hand to stop you pulling away. ‘Sorry, ‘bout earlier.’

You shake your head, trying to take your hand back from the warm, comforting grip of his.

‘I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.’ He says softly, expression serious.

This is not a conversation you wanted to get into, ignore him and be professional was what you were aiming for. ‘You didn’t.’

He places a gently, fleeting, kiss to the inside of your wrist and you can feel your pulse speed at this simple touch. When your breath hitches, he offers another, firmer caressing one, and you can feel the hot, wet press of his tongue against your skin.

You shiver, heart hammering in your chest. It’s an effort, but you need to agonisingly drag your mind back to the present, and not loiter in the pleasant fantasy of imagining his mouth traversing your whole body.

‘ _Shay_.’ You warn, tugging against his hold on you.

He lets you pull your hand out from his but makes sure that you have to drag your fingers across his skin in doing so, holding onto the tips of your fingers briefly as you turn away from him.

Sitting a tray across his lap containing his lunch, Shay watches you with a small smile but you noticing that he looks a little more forlorn than the usual roguish grin you get from him.

‘Just behave yourself, ok.’ You reprimand jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

His expression brightens when he realises that you are not actually truly angry or upset with him. You are more so with yourself, for thinking about him in any sort of way other than a patient, and for letting things get so complicated.

Shay smirks at you. ‘I always do, love.’

‘Do you feel better now that you have had a proper clean up?’

‘Aye. I think the hot water helped sooth some stiff muscles.’

‘That’s good.’ You enthuse, sincerely hoping that that wasn’t a double meaning and he was playing with you. ‘Monro came by earlier. He wants to see about getting you some clothing. Most of what you came in with was beyond salvaging I’m afraid.’

Shay only nods as he tucks into his stew, appetite returned ferociously.

A loud noise suddenly echoes from downstairs, and the distinct thump of furniture being knocked over and glass shattering disrupts you from your work.

Knotting the final bandages in place, you leave Shay in bed with his food, watching you with a quizzical expression, before heading downstairs to investigate what's going on. It was probably Barry, he was unsteady on his feet sometimes and might need some help, on occasions where fell he was too big a man for Cassidy to help up from the floor all by herself.

Downstairs you stumble upon a group of men harassing the Finnegan’s.

Mr Finnegan tries to shield his wife from the menacing group behind the bulk of his body, however his face is bright red in his anger and Mrs Finnegan is frantically trying to calm him down, he shouldn’t get so worked up, not with his bad heart.

‘Time to pay up, ye old git.’ One of the gang spits at the elderly couple, jabbing a dirty finger in their direction.

Three large, intimidating-looking, men are clearly in a mood for fighting judging by their aggressive stance and the bad attitude that is just _radiating_ off of them.

You are not about to shrink away in fear, or let these strangers bully Barry and Cassidy. Stepping into the large kitchen and living room you challenge the group. 'What do you think you are doing in this house?’

For a brief moment the ringleader of the group seems take a back.  Perhaps he didn't think anyone else was in the house, and is likely wondering just how many more people might appear from upstairs to confront them. Hopefully you can convince them to leave before they check, and realise it’s actually only you.

'Leave. Now.' You demand sternly, brokering no argument. Hopeful that a position of strength, and the fact you are not a frail, elderly, person, might make them think twice.

'Keep out of it you nosey bitch.' One of the crowd jeers at you, returning to threatening some form of ‘payment’ from the Finnegan’s.

Well that didn’t work. What were you going to do now? You could try and get past them and go for help. The Colonel is usually sympathetic and has an eye for keeping order on the streets.

'The lady asked you to leave.' A confident voice draws somewhere behind you, and you turn to find Shay out of bed, still wrapped in nothing but bandages and breeches.

You briefly wonder how on earth he made it down the stairs all by himself; by sheer force of will by the looks of him, as he looks pale and his body is held stiff, one arm clutching his most injured side.

One of the gang shoves Barry sharply, hitting him around the head with what looked like a small wooden club and snarls at Cassidy who cried out in worry over her husband.

Mr Finnegan hits the ground with a heavy thud and a low moan of pain, and instinctively you move towards him to help, feeling Shay too bristle beside you at the gang’s unpleasant actions.

Another thug unnecessarily knocks the kitchen table clean over, sending cutlery and plates flying as the three gang members advance away from the elderly Finnegan’s in your direction.

‘Who the fuck is this cock?' The leader sneers at Shay, moving menacingly towards you.

'Get rid of him ' He states to his friends. 'And grab the bitch; since they can't pay she'll be doing it on their behalf. On her back.' He sniggers and you take a healthy step backwards ensuring that you are out of reach.

Things have unfortunately escalated to violence very quickly. Shay surprises you by taking a swing at the nearest thug, and it actually connecting, a thick meaty sound of knuckles hitting flesh as he raises his fists and fends off a series of incoming attacks with ease and agility.

He is doing surprisingly well given his condition, but he can’t possibly deal with all of them on his own without risking some serious injuries and set-backs to his recovery. You are going to need to help in some way as another thug approaches you with a malicious look, drawing a small knife from inside his jacket in the process.

Carefully edging back towards the fireplace you grab one of the iron poker's standing in the grate and take a swing at the closest thug with it. It's surprisingly effective, and the attacker hits the ground quickly after taking a hard blow to the side of the head.

The leader is clearly smarter, probably why he is the boss, and more wary, as he approaches you brandishing the iron with caution. He dodges quickly as you swing, only just managing to clip him on the shoulder and continues barrelling forwards, knocking the poker out the way and slamming you to the ground under his weight.

Winded, you grab at his wrist with both of yours, trying desperately to stop him wielding the blade and cutting you with it, but with his leverage it’s all you can do to hold on frantically to his arm as his strength practically drags you across the floor.

Your cry of painful surprise has Shay wading in to help, fists and feet flying, grabbing the intruder from on top of you and trying to drag him off.

They men tussle on the floor, grunting and snarling, almost rolling over the top of you in the process. The knife skitters away across the wooden floor as Shay and the thug resort to fists and elbows to beat each other into submission.

Stumbling to your feet, you grab the discarded iron poker, trying not to be bowled over by the pair kicking and gouging each other.

Shay managers to get the upper hand, pinning the leader under him, both forearms braced against the man’s throat in a chokehold.

Jabbing the poker against the gang members face, the man quickly stills under Shay and stops struggling, watching you with thinly veiled contempt as you hover the sharp tip just above his eye.

‘Get out.’ You threaten, trying desperately to mask the fact you are badly out of breath from the struggle, and are also not a hundred-percent sure that you _could_ stab someone in the eyeball with a sharp instrument. ‘Or this is the last thing you will ever see.’

The leader sneers at you; spitting blood tinged saliva onto the floor and shoving Shay away, dragging himself unsteadily to his feet.

You can tell that he’s not happy at being bested and is just itching to try and attack you as he straightens and dusts down his long leather coat with brusque movements. But the thug knows that he shouldn’t push it, that he’s outnumbered, and his two friends are barely conscious, rolling around the kitchen floor with bloody knuckles and bloodier lips.

With a growl, and an evil look, the leader leaves, muttering some threats as he goes and dragging his companions with him.

An almost-audible tension in the room seems to ease after a few moments and you let out a deep, shaky, breath that you hadn’t realised that you were holding. You find your fingers trembling around the iron poker in your hand as you set it back down in the fireplace.

‘Nice work.’ Shay breathes heavily, still sprawled on his back on the floor where the gang member had pushed him off.

‘Are you ok.’ You ask, slightly concerned for his injuries and unsure whether to tend to him, or Mr Finnegan, first.

In the opposite corner of the room, Cassidy has helped Mr Finnegan to a chair and is pressing a cloth to his bleeding head.

Shay waves a hand back and forth, idly dismissing your worry and grinning widely. ‘Not had a good fight in ages.’ He laughs. ‘I needed that.’

You shake your head in mock disgust. The Irishman is fine, maybe taxed himself a little, but he seems contented enough.

Colonel Monro soon arrives, having heard reports of the confrontation from passers-by on the street, happy that Shay is out of bed and seemingly well on the mend, but concerned over the gang threatening the Finnegan’s, and it turns out, threatening many other families in the area. The Colonel vows to investigate and put an end to them as Barry and Shay are tended to and cleaned up once more.

Shay is helped back to his room to lick his wounds after over exerting himself in defence of you and the Finnegan’s, while you get to cleaning up some of the blood and mess downstairs.

Barry and Cassidy are full of thanks to Shay for stepping in like he did, still injured and all. The Irishman was very humble, expressing his gratitude for all their help looking after him in the first place, and stating that it was the least he could do to repay us. He wouldn’t let them be bullied by ruthless thugs.

 

 

 

 

It had certainly been a long and difficult day. After putting order to the Finnegan’s home, you head upstairs to quickly check if Shay needed anything before you head to your own home for the evening, but upon entering the bedroom you find the large bed unexpectedly empty.

You stop dead in your stride, feet paralysed as you step inside the door way; a tall figure stands by the window gazing outwards, his back to you. Your stomach drops, lungs seizing up until you think that they have stopped working completely.

William is standing in the room, back to you, broad shoulders silhouetted against the early evening light.

For a brief moment you forget where and when you are. You expect him to turn around, smile at you the way he used to.

Shaking your head and closing your eyes for a moment, not trusting what you are seeing, your legs feel suddenly unsteady. You need to sit down, lie down even, or be checked out by a doctor as you are quite clearly hallucinating.

It _can't_ be him though, your mind slaps at you. He's _dead_. And as that painful reality stabs your heart all over again the figure turns, and you see that it's not William who is now facing you, but Shay.

Shay gives you a bright smile, throwing his arms out as he does a small, semi-twirl.

'What do ye think, lass?' He asks, eager to show off his new attire.

Biting your lip so hard you can almost taste blood, all you can do is nod dumbly, fighting back tears over the familiar black coat that you hadn't seen for years.

Shay’s smile fades at your lack of reaction and he takes a step closer in your direction. You automatically back up, putting an arm out in front of you to halt his advance, causing him to stop and watch you with concern littering his features.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, you don’t think you _could_ speak, heart still crushed from a fleeting moment of joy, snatched away so quickly.

Shay regards you with confusion for a moment, brow furrowed at your reaction, until realisation quickly dawns in those dark eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but close it without uttering a word, pain written across his face. Closing his eyes for a moment, Shay’s shoulders slump.

‘I'm sorry, I never though...'

You shake your head, waiving your hand to stop him.

'My things were ruined. The Finnegan’s gave me...they said...they wanted me to have...' Shay finally trailed off, voice soft with compassion and fixing you with a sympathetic expression.

'It’s fine.' You try and say, but are afraid it's doesn't come out much more than a mumble.

'It’s not though. These are his things. I'm sorry, love, I should have realised it might be difficult for you.'

Swallowing hard you try and drag a false smile across your lips, keeping your voice clear and light in an attempt not to let the Irishman know how shaken you had been for a moment. It was stupid of you, to believe it was him. 'No. It's right that you should have them. Cassidy and Barry are right. William’s things are not being used. There's no point in wasting them.'

Shay doesn't look convinced.

'You look very nice.’ You falter. ‘It suits you.' And you are trying to be sincere. The outfit does suit him very well, and fits _perfectly_.

Shay inched closer, wrapping you in his arms before you could get a chance to move away again.

'Don’t hug me, I'll cry.' You murmur against his chest, but he does it anyway, encircling you in the warm, comforting strength of his arms. At least the clothing doesn't _smell_ like William anymore, you might not have been able to handle that. It's been too long left in a dusty travel chest and now smells of nothing but the deep earthy scent of the man under you.

Tucking you gently under his chin, Shay wraps his arms around your waist and you let him comfort you for a few moments before trying to pull away. He lets you go, with reluctance, face still etched in concern.

You wipe your eyes quickly as your pull away, not wanting him to witness your tears, even though he knew full well.

'Well, at least I don't need to feed you and look after you anymore, since you are much better and up on your feet fully.' You garble, looking for something else to talk about other than your embarrassing show of emotion.

He did seem more active and healthy than he had in days. Plus, managing to dress himself was a bonus.

'Well I don't know. I could get used to that service. And you still owe me a bed bath.' He teased with a small smile, and you give him a playful cuff on the shoulder in retort.

'What will you be doing now?'

Shay shrugs. 'I'll be around for a few more weeks, if you don't mind? The Finnegan’s said I could stay until everything is all ready. I need a new quartermaster and a crew for the Morrigan, and I'll also be working on a few things for Monro.'

You frown, unhappy that he is going to be placing himself in danger again. Death tended to follow the Colonel around.

'Take care of yourself, Shay. I know he helped you, but you don't owe him your life.'

Shay gave you an almost-exasperated look. He had hinted before that he thought your blame of Monro was a little unreasonable. William’s death technically wasn't the Colonel’s fault, but you couldn't help your animosity no matter how much you tried.

'I do. Owe him. And you. But don't worry so much about me, I want to help, if we do this right Barry and Cassidy will have no more trouble from the gangs around here. Neither will anyone else.' He stated confidently, so sure of his abilities.

That would be a weight off your mind, though; knowing that the Finnegan’s wouldn't face any more persecution. You just wish that it didn't have to be Shay putting himself in harms way.

As you head back downstairs to gather your things and head home, you catch Mrs Finnegan smiling fondly at Shay. You were afraid that she had become too attached to the boy, and he would eventually leave. She couldn’t adopt him as a surrogate son, no matter how much she would like and it made you worried how hard the Finnegan’s would take it when the Irishman inevitably departed.

'I'll walk her home.' Shay offered, as the Finnegan’s waved you off for the night.

'You do not need to, it’s not far and it’s not even dark outside yet.' You protest, not wanting Shay to tax himself too much with his injuries still healing.

He rebuffed your concern with his usual stubbornness. 'I could do with all the fresh air and exercise that I can get if I'm going to be fit enough when the ship is ready to go.'

The Finnegan’s give you a knowing look as you head out of the front door into the street, but you roll your eyes, you have pointedly ignored their hints at what a good looking, and more importantly _single_ , man Shay is. You would normally be the first to agree with them, but the Irishman will not be sticking around, no matter how much they wish it. He has work to do, and is evidently not a man suited to a domestic, sedentary, lifestyle.

Arm in arm, Shay escorts you the short journey home, loitering on the porch as you fumble the lock and amusing himself by peeking in your widows and examining your little flower pots on the windowsills with interest as you open the door

You invite him in, lighting a few candles in the hallway, as outside the early evening is beginning to turn the sky dusky

‘I have a clean bag of laundry that I have just finished if you don’t mind carrying it back to the Finnegan’s on your way home, Shay.’ You ask, as the door closes softly and you are faced with him standing in your home, watching you intently, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

Shay raises an eyebrow. ‘You take home and clean their laundry for them too?’

You huff at him and his accusing tone. ‘I have been cleaning up after you all week, Mr Cormac. Cassidy has arthritis; it takes her ages to do it herself.’

Throwing his hands up defensively, Shay shrugs. ‘I only asked.’

He steps closer, invading your personal space and dwarfing you with the breadth of his shoulders and his height.

‘And for what it’s worth, I fully appreciate everything that you have done for me.’ He murmurs voice low and seductive. He dips his head and you know that he’s angling in for another kiss.

Bracing your palm on the rough leather of his coat, you back up, retreating from his embrace, but find yourself pressed unexpectedly against the wall as he keeps coming.

Your voice comes out nervously breathy, anticipating the weight of those warm lips against yours. ‘You were supposed to be behaving yourself, Shay. We had a deal.’

The Irishman smirks devilishly, dark eyes crinkling in mischief. ‘I am behaving myself, love. I merely want to express my gratitude.’

He nuzzles you, stubbled jaw scratching your cheek briefly until his lips hover just centimetres above yours, breath tickling the sensitive skin there. He pecks at your lips, once, twice, before moving in for a full blown tongue-tanglingly intense kiss that steals all the breath from your lungs and has your whimpering into his mouth.

Your eyes slip closed in pleasure as strong fingers circle your waist, drawing you closer and pressing your body against the length of his as his mouth claims you.

Shay’s thigh presses firmly between your legs, claiming his place and moulding you snugly against the font of his body until you are forced to brace your palms against his chest for support.

You find yourself flexing against him, unable to help yourself, your body twitching with need as arousal courses through you from the simple touch of him, from nothing much more than a simple, passionate, kiss.

Your feelings towards the Irishman have become too intense, too quickly, so much so that you have surprised and more than a little shocked yourself. This is so unlike you; you can’t afford his kind of distraction. Panic floods your stomach to the tips of your toes and you pull back from him, pushing against Shay’s chest to stop.

Dark eyes flutter open, watching you with an intense, hungry and heated look, which lets you know full well he’s thinking of more than just kissing you.

‘Please stop.’ You beg, gathering your hazy thoughts and breathing heavily.

Sucking in a shaky breath was probably a mistake as he’s still close, still pressed tight against you, and all you can smell is _him_ , his body, his testosterone-fuelled arousal, and taste him on your lips.

Easing out of his arms, you hope that some space will help you think more clearly. You can’t, you _shouldn’t_ do this.

You shake your head. ‘I can’t.’

Shay watches you carefully, his face unreadable.

'You hide behind them.' He eventually stated, plainly, as you turned your back to him

You can still feel the warmth radiate off of his body from the nearness of him, the long, heavy coat brushing the backs of your legs even as you try to shrink away.

'I don't know what you mean.' You protest in a small voice.

'The Finnegan’s. You spend all your time looking after them so that you don't have time to love anyone else.'

You scoff at him. 'The only person in love here is you, Shay, and it's clearly with yourself. '

He chuckles at your attempted insult, smile crinkling the skin around his eyes as he places his hands on your hips and physically turns you towards him once more.

He’s too close, you are trapped in the warm, manly-aura of his body and you can’t stand the fact that it’s exactly where you want to be.

'If you are trying to suggest that I'm in love with you-' You begin to object, but are cut short with another thigh-quaveringly melting kiss.

Shay pulls back from your lips all too quickly, leaving you panting in want, but soon trails his mouth across your jaw and down your neck.

Your lead lolls backwards, allowing him greater access as he leaves little love bites down the long slope of your throat.

It feels so good. So pleasurable. So _forbidden_. But so much like you are betraying William.

'You don't love me.' He whispers against your skin between kisses. 'We both know I'll be gone far too soon, I have too much work to do, but you are attracted to me.' He finished with a mischievous grin, the usual smug kind when a man thinks he's irresistible.

'You flatter yourself.' You scoff, ashamed at the pleasure-induced whimpers escaping your lips with every flick of his tongue against bare patches of your skin.

This is ridiculous. Easing out of the warm circle of his arms, you are not going to be swayed, no matter how talented that mouth might be.

Shay rolls his eyes at your protest. 'You don't want to admit the thought of sex with me excites you, because then you might consider sex with someone else.’

‘I’m _not_ considering sex with you, by the way.’ You cut in.

Ok, you had actually considered sex with him, and the prospect of how amazing that could be, but you will not be letting him know that. He seems insufferably full of himself already.

Shay ploughs on regardless. ‘And if you would consider opening yourself up like that to me, and to them, then you might be more inclined to open up more emotionally.''

'What are you, a psychiatrist?' You mock, trying to turn away from him and brush off his observations. What did he know anyway? He was just some thug, some gang member for all you knew that the army had dragged in half dead. You had known him for a few weeks, if that.

The Irishman smiles forlornly. 'Just someone that knows, love.'

He looked so sad for a moment, distant. Had Shay lost people too? People that he loved?

'You hide behind the Finnegan’s, looking after them because it’s easier to remain William’s widow than meet someone else and face the prospect of them leaving you alone again.'

Feeling the bubbling prick of tears begging to sting the back of your eyes, you couldn’t look at him, averting your gaze. Damn him. You didn’t normally cry this much around people but it seemed to be becoming a habit around this man.

Shay gently pulls you close to him, fingertips curling around your waist. He kisses you, but it's softer this time, less urgent passion and more comfort filled. After a quick kiss on the lips he kisses your forehead.

'I’m sorry. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.' He says softly, pulling away, but you catch his hand, finding the leather of his gloves surprisingly warm in your palm.

'Don’t.' You mutter. You don’t want him to go. You need him to stay, to kiss you again.

He halts his retreat at you words, turning back towards you, dark eyes concerned. Thick, gloved fingers curled around your chin, tilting your head at just the right angle for his lips to meet yours before stroking your skin sensually, sending waves of goosebumps shivering down your spine.

You melt against his body, your own hands curling through the lapels of his coat.

Just as you had done previously with William, your mind torments you, but you quickly push those intrusive thoughts downward, enjoying your moment with the Irishman currently entwined around you.

Shay scrapes your bottom lip, quickly soothing with a flick of his tongue, pausing his assault briefly and hovering just millimetres above your mouth. He lets you close the small gap, inching up on tiptoes to meet his kiss, making sure that you were confident that you wanted it before plunging deeper into your mouth when your lips part in a welcoming sigh.

You can't help the small undulations of your body against his, unconsciously seeking something more, more touch, more friction, more of _him_.

Shay’s gloved hand caresses you as it skims down your throat, your collar, brushing your breast purposely on its way to your hip, offering teasing massages through your clothing.

Your moans of desire are quickly lost in his mouth, his kisses stealing your breath with every swipe of his tongue. Heat and arousal floods your body, mind hazy from the overwhelming flood of hormones and indescribably desire.

Shay pulls back just enough to grab the finger of his gloves between his teeth and tug them off, letting the garments fall haphazardly to the floor. He obviously wanted his hands free to touch you more intimately, palm curling around your bare neck and his thumb stroking your jaw tenderly as his lips seek yours again. He can’t seem to _stop_ kissing you, pulling your body against his, claiming every inch of your mouth for his own.

The solidness of his body pins you against the wall, his thigh worming it way between your legs until you are practically balancing on top of him. Your underwear scrapes unbearably against your clit with each small movement, but you can't stop yourself bucking against his thigh, uncaring if your arousal is soaking through layers of fabric or not. Automatically, your hands wander up across the impressive strain of his biceps, his broad shoulders, loosening the dark ribbon that he had secured his hair back with. A cascade of dark hair falls forwards to frame his face, allowing you to run fingers to run through the silky black waves.

Shay’s hands wandered to your backside, offering a firm squeeze and smirking at your small yelp of surprise into his mouth. His actions inch you just a fraction higher against the wall until you were practically on tiptoes, surrounded by his touch and taste and smell.

You needed more of him. You needed him naked and writhing against your equally naked body or you might just go mad.

Abandoning the glorious exploration of his dark tresses, you push against his chest and Shay pulls away from your kiss with a frown tensing his forehead.

'The bedroom is upstairs.' You manage to whisper, voice rough and breathless.

A smirk dances across his face briefly, happy that he is not being rejected and thrown out, as he lick his lips eyeing you with unchecked desire. He nods, releasing his possessive hold on you and setting you down on your feet.

Slipping your hand into his, you gently lead him through the hallway and upstairs, fingertips cradled comfortingly in his.

Entering your bedroom, Shay stops just inside the doorway, watching you with eager eyes but letting you amble to the large bed alone.

You remove your clothing as you move, stripping off your dress and layers of complicated underskirts, finally feeling loose and free and letting the folds of fabric pool at your feet.

You turn to face him, still where you left him at the doorway, and slip naked on top of the bed, easing backwards on your hands and feet; an invitation for Shay to join you.

He's remains passive, standing in the middle of the floor, clearly enjoying the slow strip and reveal of your body to his eager gaze.

For a brief moment you feel nervous, exposed, and unsure if this is now what he wants, but Shay makes a low, appreciative, noise in his throat and the look in his eyes is predatory, as if he is currently considering devouring you.

He shakes his head, as if clearing gloomy thoughts. 'You're beautiful.' He offers with reverence.

You smile at him but it doesn't quite reach your eyes, not quite trusting his motive. It's pretty to think so but he's about to have sex with you. Any man would say the same; insecurity doesn't let you fully trust his compliment.

'I've wanted you for a while.' He confesses, deftly unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat, loosening complicated layers of fabric and weapons and belts with nimble fingers that you could easily fantasise over.

'We barely know each other.' You laugh. How long could he really have desired you?

His smile is playful. 'That moment, right at the beginning when I awoke and fell out of bed.'

'You had just woken up from a coma, Shay!'

He smirked as he peeled off his outer things. Tugging his shirt out of his breeches; the black fabric was the next to go, exposing his toned, but pale, upper body, and also revealing a few bandages still covering some of the worst wounds.

'That scowl you gave me when I landed on you.' He chuckled in remembrance. It hadn’t seemed so funny at the time. 'You cared. You were worried for me. This pretty little thing cursing a fit, I was glad I got to spend so much time with you.'

You proper yourself up on the pillows as he eased off his boots and sauntered towards the bed.

You watched him hungrily as he unbuttons the first stud on his breeches in his approach to your position.

Shay stops, thighs pressed against the foot of the bed, he’s close enough to touch, and you are most eager to. 'I'm glad you didn't undress me fully, though.'

You raise a questioning eyebrow, gaze wandering in aimless excitement over his partially clothed body. 'Oh, why?'

‘If you had gotten me naked to try and get me into that bath, I don't know what I would have done. I wanted you. And I don't know what I would have tried, whether I was in any condition for it or not, and I don’t care who heard us downstairs.' He chuckled giving you an uncharacteristically shy smile.

You laugh with him as he pops another button down the front of his breeches, certainly making a better job of it than you had managed.

Standing there, he gives you a meltingly sexy smirk. Shay’s voice drops intimately to purr across your naked body like he just caressed you with a velvet glove. 'You want to finish the job now, lass?'

He's in almost the same position as before, only this time in much better condition to follow through on his teasing, and you are not inclined to put an end to it this time.

Licking your lips, you scoot towards the edge of the bed, placing your legs on either side of his.

Shay gazes down at you from his elevated position, dark eyes wide and dilated.

You are almost face to groin and are aware of the firm outline of his hardened cock through his trousers. Reaching out, you trace his length with your hand, marvelling at the heat radiating through his clothing.

Sighing heavily at your touch, Shay’s body stiffens more and more with each of your caresses until he is a wound up coil of arousal.

You unbutton the last few fastenings yourself, exposing a triangle of dark pubic hair. You simply can't wait to reveal him fully, slipping an inquisitive palm into the opening and reaching down to firmly grab the length of him.

He's hard and soft all at once, pulse hammering, you can practically _feel_ the blood coasting through his erection.

Shay let's out a long, low, _satisfied,_ groan at your touch, his hips bucking towards you, seeking the source of his pleasure.

Curling your hand around his cock, you run up and down the length with a few teasing strokes, and the noises Shay made were enough to make you wet without ever being touched intimately. It had been so long since you got to do this, since you had William panting and straining and submitting like this under your touch.

Dragging his trousers downward with your free hand, his cock finally stands free and proud before you. You press his length towards his belly, exposing the long line of the underside of his shaft and balls to you. Edging closer to the end of the bed, and his body, you lean forwards and lick from base to tip, cupping the delicate skin of his balls in your free hand and rolling them gently between your fingers.

You gaze up the line of Shay's body to find his head thrown back, lips parted, throat working deeply in a series of rumbling, masculine groans.

Your tongue tingles from the taste of him, salty and musky. The head of his cock is already wet, cum oozing in little droplets from the tip. Enraptured, you suck the tip between your lips, engulfing the head of his cock while your tongue flicks across the sensitive underside.

Fingers thread through your hair, flexing and curling with each swipe of your tongue. His hips thrust towards you, almost gagging you with the thick shaft lodged in your mouth, but you feel Shay fight to regain control of his body. Muscles quivering in effort, he stills, straight and passive underneath you, fingers still stroking through your hair while you experiment with the rhythm and deepness of sucking his cock.

His guttural reaction to you has your thighs clench, desperately seeing some sort of touch and friction between your legs. Your inner muscles tighten and flutter, imagining him thrusting hard between your legs instead of into your mouth.

You must have moved, of shifted, underneath him in some way as Shay suddenly pulls back, easing himself carefully out of your mouth with a low growl from him, and a disappointed moan from you.

Chancing a glance upwards, you find his dark gaze staring down at you, pupils wide, a half smile across his stubbled jaw.

Letting his breeches puddle to the floor, Shay kicks them away to free his movements, advancing on the bed, and pushing you gently backwards. He follows you onto it, riding your body down to a prone position, covering your body with his larger one.

Shay drags you up to his level so the he can meet your lips, teeth gnawing gently at your bottom lip before plunging his tongue fully into your mouth, stealing away the taste of his body lingering on your tongue, and sensuously claiming every inch of yours.

You writhe against him, enjoying the warm, silky caress of his nakedness against yours. His body engulfs yours easily, pressing you confidently against the soft mattress and firm, toned, plains of him.

'Where did you learn that?' He purrs against your lips. His cock, still wet from your mouth, presses urgently against your bare thigh.

'Were you expecting a blushing virgin?' You tease. 'Sorry to disappoint.'

Shay smirks, peppering your jaw and neck with feather-light kisses. 'I doubt anyone would ever be disappointed with you.' He husks, biting his way along your collarbone and kissing along the mound of your breasts. 'You and William were never technically married.'

'Has that ever stopped you?' You challenge him and Shay pulls back enough to give you a naughty smile, dark eyes wickedly mischievous.

‘Nae.' He chuckled in defeat, mouth engulfing your nipple, suckling on the sensitive peak until you moaned and arched into him.

Your fingers curl through his dark hair, crushing him against your chest, unsure whether you need him to stop tormenting your poor, over stimulated nipples or give you more.

Once he had lavished an appropriate amount of attention on one, he kiss his way to the other, smirking against your skin at your reaction.

Abandoning your breasts, Shay’s body soon stretched out over you, covering your body as he raised your arms above your head and pinned you in place, letting you writhe and strain under him. He continued the delicious torment by pressing between your legs, never penetrating you, never giving what your body was craving, what it was soaking wet for, but letting you know that he _could_.

Shay rutted against you, the hard tip of his cock delving through your wet folds, nudging your clit, stroking over and over it until it was just as stiff a peak as your nipples.

‘ _Shay_.’ You whined, begging him for more without having to ask.

He smirks against your kiss, his tongue tangling with yours to continue its slow, sensuous dance.

With ease, he deftly rolled you over, pushing you face first into the soft mattress and pining your body once again with his. His hips moulded against your backside, thighs pressed tightly against yours. Shay curls onto his side, dragging you with him into his embrace and pulling you tightly against his chest.

From this angle he had the perfect access to your neck, trailing shiveringly-good kisses down your throat while his arm curled around your hip, his large palm sliding downwards to cup your groin.

You arched against him, loving the hot spear of his cock tight against the soft flesh of your backside and being wrapped in his arms. You angle your head over your shoulder, demanding kisses, which Shay happily obliges.

His fingers are impossibly warm against your sex, stroking his way lightly through your pubic hair before delving deeper, parting your folds, teasing you briefly by slipping thick fingers into your cunt. He soon abandons that in favour of stimulating your clit using gentle, confident strokes, keeping up an even pressure and coaxing you to orgasm while his free hand massages one of your breasts and his mouth offers endless kissed to your neck and shoulder.

Parting your legs, you undulate against him, desperately trying to get Shay to fuck you, to penetrate you, but he keeps up the steady, maddening rhythm against your clit.

Your orgasm trembles through your body, trapped and secure in his embrace, as his touch coaxes you through small aftershocks of pleasure.

Lips trail a path of reassuring kisses along your neck while you whimper against him, body feeling like a rope that had been held taught for too long and was now unravelled into a loose, uneven puddle.

Sneaking a hand behind you, and between your bodies, you enclose it around his cock. It’s an awkward angle, but you managed to run your palm along the length of him, teasing the Irishman until he’s purring in your ear.

Shay swats your hand away, pressing his hips tight against your backside. He takes himself in hand and you can feel him fumble, positioning himself at your drippingly-wet pussy and nudging forwards.

Your body welcomes him happily, greedily, clenching and tightening and encouraging him to sink deeper, to embed his cock as fully he can. You let out a low, satisfied moan of pleasure when he is fully sheathe inside of you, his hips pressed against the soft globes of your arse.

Shay’s responding sigh in finally penetration you is equally as pleasurable and he seems content to sit like that for a few moments, unmoving, hands wandering your body, offering a gently squeeze of your breasts, his kisses trailing the back of your neck.

When he _finally_ moves it is _exquisite_ , the feeling; indescribable. Shay’s hips flex, slowly, gently, pushing himself back and forth into your eager body with measured thrusts. His hands wander to your hips to help, tugging you bodily backwards onto his waiting cock while his hips continue their smooth, rolling, movements.

Excited sounds escape your throat, bubbling up and whispering through your lips before you could stop yourself. You didn’t know that you could make those kinds of noises, and it was a little scary that you couldn’t possibly have helped it, even if the Finnegan’s, the damned army, or the entire populace of Boston was right on the other side of the wall listening in.

For too soon, however, it’s not enough; the gentle rocking of Shay’s hips, pushing his cock steadily in and out. It’s too placid, too mellow. The Irishman can feel it too, his body strung and tense along the line of yours.

With barely any effort, Shay rolls you swiftly, tugging you up onto your hands and knees as he positions himself impatiently behind you.

It allows him more control, to let loose with all the strength and power of impressive hips and legs. He thrusts hard, quick, forcing squeals of delight from deep in your chest every time his thighs and balls slap violently against you. Fingers curl firmly around your hips, so hard that you are sure you will be bruised tomorrow as he uses his leverage to bear down on you.

You can feel sweat trickle down your spine in effort, your body feels like it’s on fire; hot and wild. A tense knot of pleasure builds low in your abdomen with each masculine growl and stuttering thrust of his hips.

You demand more, barely audible begs and incoherent pants. Shay’s own voice is breathy, grunting out expletives and endearments, coaxing you on, encouraging you to come apart on him.

His hips stutter, rhythm uneven. You can feel Shay’s thighs quiver as they press against you, the tension in his fingers reaching breaking point. He’s reaching his end so you sneak a hand down between your legs, rubbing your engorged, stimulated, clit delicately with your fingertips.

The voracity of shay’s thrusts into you almost knocks you face first into the soft mattress underneath you, only his tight hold on your body keeping you upright on your hands and knees, snug against his body.

Shay lets out a deep growl of climax, his body stilling under you, hips offering one last thrust to embed himself as deeply inside of you as possible. He pants heavily, hot breath whispering down your spine as you feel his shaft contract, training inside of you as he cums.

Your teasing of you clit pays off, a few more moments stroking your fingers through your sex soon has the familiarly satisfying ripple of gratification coursing through your lower body and up your spine.

Shay grunts lowly as your inner muscles spasm around his softening cock, still sensitive from his own orgasm.

You all but collapse face-first onto the bed, gasping for breath, muscles feeling like the consistency of jelly. You feel thoroughly exhausted, but in a good way, satisfied and brain pleasantly fuzzy in post coital bliss.

You only finally move when Shay rolls you gently onto your back, seeking his lips against your own. His actions are gently, full of love and tenderness as he curls you around his body, pulling you into a snuggling embrace.

Happily, you sink into bed with the Irishman, both of you slipping under the covers, bodies entwined as you doze your orgasm induced tiredness off.

You listen contentedly, head tucked against his should and fingers stroking through the dark hair covering his check as Shay tells you of his plans; to see the threat of assassin gangs and power dissipated throughout the colonies. It’s a worthy goal, but one that is likely to consume him.

 

 

 

 

Shay spent the next two weeks fully recovering and undertaking some basic errands for Monro, but all too soon the Morrigan was loaded with suppliers, fully manned, and ready to go.

He spent every night before his departure walking you home, curling up in bed beside you and making love in every way possible, finally sneaking away before sun up so that the Finnegan’s didn't realise that he did not spend the night in their home.

Mrs Finnegan was heartbroken to see him go, and Shay promised to try and visit if he could. You knew that that wouldn’t happen, but surprisingly you didn’t feel upset that you would never see him again. He had another purpose to fulfil with his second life.

Shay departed thinking that he had left you with confidence, that you would likely go out and find someone new, that you would stop revolving your life around the care of Barry and Cassidy, but he never realised that he left you with something more than that, and in roughly nine months’ time you would have someone new to care for, and all you would ever need.

 


End file.
